


On My Mind

by mikkimouse4271



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: High School, M/M, Modern Day Queen, Pining, Secret Crush, Volleyball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 17:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkimouse4271/pseuds/mikkimouse4271
Summary: John has liked Roger for a while, but he's never thought about telling him, afraid to confess. On a particular day, he finds himself with an opportunity to finally do it, so he does. He confesses.





	On My Mind

John slammed the door of his locker shut and slid his lock through the hole. Knowing he’d be too lazy to open it again later, he left it unlocked. Nobody had stolen anything through the entire school year, so why would anything happen now? Clutching his volleyball under his arm, he opened the door to the gym.

Under the basketball hoop, Roger stood with his hands on his hips as he conversed with two girls. With every word, his hand moved animatedly, gesturing all around as if he were trying to act out a story. The corners of his mouth curled up into a smile and he let out a light, breathy laugh.

A small cluster of butterflies gathered in the pit of John’s stomach and he squashed them down, as usual. He shouldn’t get caught up with his feelings for Roger again. Despite his attempts to pay Roger no attention, he subtly glanced over as he walked past him, secretly hoping he would be noticed.

One step.

 _Look up_ , he silently begged.

Two steps.

 _Please look up_.

Three steps.

Roger looked up. “Hey, John,” he called, waving.

Seeing Roger’s attention on him, he smiled and waved back. It was honestly a bit sad that such a simple thing could make him so happy. He looked away, grinning to himself.

“HEADS!”

A volleyball sliced through the air towards him. Fortunately, he had automatically raised an arm over his head, so it bounced off his wrist. Quickly putting his things to the side, he took his ball and joined a group of three, playing doubles. Getting low, he stood on the balls of his feet, bracing himself for the next hit. Roger had already left his mind.

John loved volleyball. He loved the way it felt to smoothly pop the ball up into the air, then to smash it down and hear that satisfying sound of a clean smack. After practicing month after month for a year, his body now moved instinctively before his brain even started to process anything. It was pure adrenaline.

As the ball went from one side to the other, John ran back and forth, setting it to each side. He saw it sail over his head. Backing up to match its trajectory, he raised his arms and set it up with the tips of his fingers. However, when he looked down to see the person hitting it, it was Roger. His heart skipped a beat and he froze for a moment, but there was no time to dwell on it as the ball was already back up in the air. He raced after it.

As time passed, five people became six, and six people became seven. By the time the soccer coach asked volleyball to leave, John was a sweaty mess, panting hard with his hands on his knees. His throat ached with thirst. Unscrewing the cap of his water bottle, he drank large gulps of cool, refreshing water. He sank down against the bleachers and watched Roger and his friends. Their arms rested over each other’s shoulders in the most natural way. He wished he could do that same. He wished for the same level of intimacy with Roger, but despite knowing him for over a year, and even managing the boy’s volleyball team, their relationship stayed the same. He cursed his own cowardice.

It was Thursday, and John knew what Thursday’s meant. Roger was probably going to the nearby recreational center to continue playing volleyball with the rest of the team. He thought about whether he should join them.

In the end, John went, insisting to himself that he needed the practice. It wasn’t a lie. He _did_ need extra practice. Locking his jacket and backpack into a locker, he climbed the stairs from the basement to the second floor, carrying his ball in one hand and his phone in the other.

In the gym, two groups of three warmed up separately on opposite sides of the net. The squeaking sounds of sneakers against the floor echoed in the space. Since Roger was in the group on the left, John joined the group on the right, determined to stay focused.

Then, the game began. John held the ball with both hands and took a deep breath. As balanced as he could, he tossed it up and served it hard over the net. Rally after rally, he kept his eyes on the ball. There were no points, only practice. The ball moved fast, but it was the same three motions over and over again. Pass, set, spike. Pass, set, spike.

The opposing team hit a particularly difficult spike and his teammates scrambled to keep the ball in the air. Following the first touch, a second person pushed the ball up without any thought to a direction. It flew to the left, where John was standing. Backing up, he approached it. Left foot, right foot, left foot. Right before he jumped, he realized that the ball wouldn’t be directly in front of him, but rather more to the left. In a split second, he shifted, swinging his right arm at an angle.

Instantly, pain seared through the base of his thumb and he cried out, clutching his hand. His hit had been blocked, but he barely noticed, only feeling the sharp, intense throbbing of a jammed finger. Not wanting to interrupt the game, he stepped off the court and sat down on the side bench.

A jammed thumb was nothing new. In fact, John estimated this to be the fourth time it’s happened. However, it seemed to hurt worse compared to the second or third time. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed the tendons around the joint of his thumb. It numbed the pain, but only temporarily. The sounds of people playing volleyball were distant and muffled. He looked down at the floor, frustrated at his injury. A shadow loomed over him and he lifted his head to see Roger. Slightly surprised, his attention momentarily left his hand.

“Hey,” Roger said, sitting down on the bench. “You okay?”

John went back to massaging his thumb. “Um, yeah. It’s just jammed. It’s fine.”

“Do you want me to see if they have any ice packs downstairs?”

“Oh, no.” John shook his head. “It’s—it’s okay, honestly. I’m sure the pain will go away soon. It’s not the first time I’ve jammed my thumb.”

Roger didn’t respond to that. He stayed sitting, looking at John’s hand for a few more seconds. Then, he stood. “Okay. I hope you feel better.” Returning to the court, he slipped back into the game.

John smiled, touched by his concern. Subconsciously, he moved his thumb, trying to get it to function, but the pain flared up again. He sighed and gave up. Accepting the fact that he probably shouldn’t use his thumb for a while, he stared at Roger as he played. He didn’t understand why he was so captivated by Roger. John wondered what it was that set him apart from others. Then, when Roger lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, John was reminded of the reason. He turned his eyes away, ashamed at his thoughts. He berated himself for being attracted to a person for their physical qualities. Then, he berated himself for berating himself for being attracted to a person for their physical qualities.

It was a bit unsettling, the way that he argued with his own mind. It felt like a debate. _Yes_ , it was shallow to care about looks. _No_ , there was nothing wrong with liking a person’s body. _Yes_ , it is wrong to base feelings on particularly toned muscles, but it wasn’t like that was the _only_ thing he liked about Roger. He also liked that Roger was skilled at his favorite sport. The whole thing was ridiculous. He exhausted himself and abandoned all rationale.

At six, open gym ended, as the court was reserved by a team for practice. John descended down to his locker in the basement. Holding his lock with his left hand, he struggled to turn the dial using his pointer and middle finger. The first try didn’t work. Neither did the second. He pursed his lips, sighing.

“Need some help?”

John whipped his head around.

Roger.

It astonished John, the number of times he had interacted with Roger today. Deciding to take advantage of his luck, he stepped aside. “Yes, actually. Could you open my lock? I keep messing it up.”

Roger showed an amused smile. “Yeah, sure.” He knelt down in front of the locker. “What’s the combination?”

“26-18-13.”

Roger turned the dial to the right, then left, then right, and the lock clicked open.

“Thank you,” John said as Roger stood. Being this close to Roger brought back the fluttering feeling in his stomach.

“No problem,” Roger answered. He rounded the corner of the hallway and disappeared.

Taking out his book bag, John checked the weather app on his phone. It was seventy-four degrees outside. _Finally, some sun after days of rain_. He changed out of his sweaty clothes and stuffed them into his duffel bag along with his ball.

Roger re-emerged, together with three of his friends. They seemed to be teasing each other about something, but John wasn’t sure what about. He shrunk back, intimidated by the group.

“Hey, John,” Roger said. “We’re going to Wendy’s. Wanna come?”

This was it. This was development. Roger was finally starting to notice him. “Y-Yeah!” John stammered, unable to contain his excitement. By habit, he picked up his duffel bag with his right hand, but dropped it as soon as he felt the pressure on his thumb.

Roger grabbed the strap of the bag. “Let me get that.” He lifted the bag over his shoulder.

All the way to Wendy’s, John couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. Although he wasn’t walking next to Roger, it fueled his hopes seeing his bag being held for him. Not to mention, Roger looked back every couple of minutes, catching his eyes. He felt a strong desire to tell Roger that he liked him, because maybe, just maybe, he had a chance now.

Inside the fast-food restaurant, Roger and his friends settled down near the window, dropping their bags to the floor. They all got up to order, except for Roger.

“Rog, you don’t want anything?” One asked.

“No,” Roger responded. “I’m okay.”

“Alright, then. We’ll be back.”

With the others gone, John sat alone with Roger. He fidgeted in his seat, wanting to say something, but not knowing what. Roger remained silent, looking down at his phone. The urge to confess grew exponentially as the time ticked away. John felt his heart rate increase at the thought of actually saying his feelings out loud. Roger’s friends could return at any given moment. If he was going to tell Roger, it had to happen now.

“Um, Roger...”

Roger looked up.

The words stuck in John’s throat, desperately trying to crawl their way up. “I...”

Roger blinked, patiently waiting.

“CanItellyousomething?” John blurted out. Embarrassment crept into his cheeks. He couldn’t believe he chose to start like _that_.

Roger clicked his phone shut. “What’s up?”

It was nerve-wracking. John was seconds away from confessing and it was extremely nerve-wracking. He took a deep breath and pulled himself together for one brave moment, hoping for the best. “I, um...Roger...I like you.”

Roger’s eyes widened and suddenly the world stopped. John’s heart fell, crushed by the weight of Roger’s reaction. He thought he was prepared for it, but he wasn’t.

“Wow, um, really...?” Roger said with uncertainty. “I—I never knew you felt that way...about me.”

John wanted to run away and hide somewhere, to be anywhere other than there at that table. Abruptly standing, he turned around to escape to the bathroom. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know wh—”

Roger quickly reached over and grabbed his wrist. “Hey! Wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to react so insensitively. You just really...surprised me.”

“I’m sorry,” John apologized again, beginning to ramble. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t mean to just put that on you so randomly. If you hate it, you can just pretend I never said anything. Please don’t pay it any mind if you don’t want to. I can see that you were really shocked.”

After a long stretch of silence, Roger loosened his grip. “I never said that was a bad thing.”

John processed the meaning of Roger’s comment. It wasn’t a no. Relief blossomed through him, healing the pieces of his heart. It wasn’t a no. He had never felt so hopeful in his life. Roger took his hand, intertwining their fingers. Nobody had ever held his hand in such a way. The feeling was foreign and unusual.

John loved it.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a personal story, based on a real experience. Everything that happened up until Roger asked if John was okay really happened, and it happened today lol. Everything after that...well, it's what I hoped would happen, but of course, it didn't. Writing really is the best way to let out your feelings. But alas, it's only a little crush, so it's fine lol :)
> 
> Hope this was enjoyable <3


End file.
